


Timshel

by pepperlandgirl4



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 19:38:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8258023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperlandgirl4/pseuds/pepperlandgirl4
Summary: Arthur has the Fisher King's trident, so why does he feel like the quest is a failure?





	1. Chapter 1

Gwaine said something about doing a quick patrol before they bedded down. Arthur was engrossed in polishing the freshly captured trident and had spent most of the night ignoring both Merlin and Gwaine. Mostly Gwaine. But since they spent so much time talking to each other, it became necessary to tune Merlin out, too. He looked up as Gwaine walked away, catching a brief glance of the other man touching the back of Merlin’s shoulder. It was too casual to be anything but deliberate. Merlin looked sideways, acknowledging Gwaine without turning his head. Clearly, he didn’t want to catch Arthur’s attention. 

Arthur ground his teeth and refocused on the trident. It already had a dull gleam, but Arthur wasn’t satisfied. It still looked like something locked away in the top of an abandoned tower for centuries. It looked mundane. Arthur didn’t want the result of his quest to look like a dull artifact, of no interest or value to anybody. He was already having mixed feelings about this quest, this sacred journey to be completed before his twenty-fifth year. It was supposed to the beginning of his story, the first real step towards his destiny as King of Camelot. But instead of being an epic journey, it was the ridiculous tale of how he fell mysteriously ill, nearly died, had to be _rescued by his manservant_ , and then retrieved some old piece of garbage without any trial. He’d have to embellish a great deal to protect his own pride, and when the bards carried the saga to the people of Camelot, it would all be a lie. Guilt gnawed at him, and it wasn’t even his fault everything had gone so terribly wrong. 

He knew Merlin wanted to hear something. A word of gratitude, perhaps. _Why thank you Merlin for saving me, thus rendering the entire trip utterly pointless._ On the other hand, Merlin did have a good point about how Arthur couldn’t be king if Arthur didn’t survive. And it wasn’t as though he’d failed to reach his destination or find his trophy. And going through the Perilous Lands was no easy feat. Merlin never would have made it without Gwaine’s help. 

Gwaine. 

Gwaine. What was he even doing there anyway? Only the fact that Arthur owed his life to Gwaine curbed his tongue, and though he longed to ask Merlin why he’d brought _Gwaine_ all people, he pushed the question down. Leon probably would have helped him. But Merlin didn’t like Leon the way he liked Gwaine. That’s what that little touch to his shoulder meant, wasn’t it? Now would be the perfect time to demand a full explanation, which Arthur felt he was more than entitled to. Why had Merlin disobeyed him so blatantly? Why had he been so disrespectful of Arthur’s expressed wishes? How did he know that Arthur would need him? 

Well, the last question wasn’t so hard to answer. Somewhere along the way, Merlin got it lodged in his head that he was absolutely _indispensible_ to Arthur. Like Arthur just wouldn’t be able to survive a day without him. Arthur didn’t know how Merlin could have possibly gotten that idea. Maybe once or twice he’d shown a certain level of displeasure when Merlin went and disappeared, and he was loathe to give Merlin any days off. In fact, he’d make Merlin work every day of the week if he thought the resulting whinging would be worth it. But it wasn’t worth it. Somehow, Arthur counted that thought as a victory. 

Arthur was just working up the energy to try to ask something, but just as he opened his mouth, Merlin jumped to his feet. 

“I’m chilly. Don’t you think it’s a bit cold out?” 

It felt fine to Arthur. 

“I’ll just gather more wood then, shall I?” 

“If you feel you must, Merlin.” Arthur tried to convey his disapproval of additional firewood, but Merlin apparently didn’t catch his tone because he beat a hasty retreat. Leaving Arthur alone with his thoughts, which is exactly what Arthur had wanted all along. Naturally, he became consumed with the question of just what the two of them were doing when they made up ridiculous excuses like patrolling and firewood to sneak away from him. Neither one of them were that useful. Chances were, they’d get so caught up in whatever they were actually doing, they’d forget to actually do the errands and ruin their covers in the process. 

Arthur carefully wrapped the trident in the blanket he’d brought for that purpose and arranged his bedroll over it. He’d take care of the patrol and get an armful of wood so those two could…

Just _what_ was Gwaine doing there? How had Merlin found him? Was he somehow keeping track of Gwaine’s travels? Did they send each other correspondence? Merlin met many messengers sent from across the kingdom with word for either Uther or Arthur. It would be simple enough to send a letter on to Gwaine’s last known whereabouts. _I’ll find out who carried the letters and I’ll have them flogged._ No. He couldn’t do that. It wasn’t their fault he felt like this. It was Merlin’s fault. 

What did it mean that Gwaine had safely escorted Merlin through the Perilous Lands like it was no hardship? This was supposed to be Arthur’s quest, and Gwaine could have accomplished it easily enough. It didn’t matter that nobody knew that except the three of them. It still called into question his right to rule. Yes, the crown was his by virtue of being Uther Pendragon’s son, but if his claim amounted to nothing more than a birthright, it was weak. Arthur had heard Uther’s lectures too many times about bastard children. He knew how tenuous his inheritance was. 

_But it is still yours,_ Arthur assured himself. _Gwaine is no threat to you._

An undeniable fact. Yes Arthur felt quite threatened. 

Merlin made for easy prey. Arthur picked out his trail without trouble and followed it for several minutes before he found the two men, standing with their chests nearly touching, Gwaine’s fingers curled Merlin’s. 

If Gwaine hadn’t been there, Merlin would never leave Arthur alone to stew in silence. He’d sit too close and stare at Arthur with patient curiosity, and then he’d do something obnoxious so Arthur would yell at him. Once Arthur started yelling, he found it easier to give voice to all the pent up doubts and insecurities, most comfortable with emotion when it resembled anger. But tonight, Merlin didn’t care to do that. He’d rather sneak away to hold hands with Gawain and whisper in his ear.

The way Gwen had held Lancelot’s hand. Not that the memory still plagued him, infringing on his thoughts at the most inconvenient times. Like when he’d been debating whether he should marry Elena, and the question of his entire future really rested on that memory. It’d stilled his tongue until it was almost too late to voice his protest. Arthur recognized this tight feeling just below his throat, and it only grew tighter the longer he stood there. He would have liked to escape it, but his legs seemed to be grounded where they were. 

He couldn’t hear a word they said, as much as he held his breath and strained to catch their voices on the breeze. His ears were sharp and they weren’t standing that far away, but he never heard anything more than an occasional odd syllable. He feared they were talking about him. He feared they weren’t thinking about him at all. They probably had many things to talk about that didn’t involve him at all. Every day brought a new adventure for Gwaine, unencumbered as he was by country and kin. Not that Arthur considered himself _encumbered_ , but Gwaine knew a kind of freedom that Arthur couldn’t even taste, no matter how many random taverns and villages he dragged Merlin to, looking for something that wasn’t _obligation_. Funny how he could never find it. 

Standing there like a simpleton wasn’t doing anybody any good. He had a trident to clean. Gwaine and Merlin would have to return sooner or later, and when they did, Arthur would set Merlin to work. Merlin was lazy, but he rarely shirked his responsibilities anymore. Then Gwaine could keep himself company while Merlin jumped to Arthur’s bidding, demonstrating once and for all where Merlin’s loyalties were. Gwaine could choke on that for awhile. 

Arthur spun in a tight circle and then he, first Knight of Camelot and greatest hunter in all the land, walked into a tree. He might have been able to pretend it never happened except blood gushed from his face in the most surprising way. Within seconds, his hand was coated in the hot liquid, and he knew without looking that his shirt was good and ruined. But the stains on his shirt were nothing compared to the fresh blemishes on his pride. Graceful escape was impossible. Within seconds of the unfortunate accident, both Merlin and Gwaine were right there—eager, as always, to help. 

“Arthur, what happened?” Merlin asked, holding his filthy scarf against Arthur’s face in a very unhelpful way. 

“Isn’t it obvious? A tree stepped into his path. They have the tendency to come out of nowhere in these parts.” 

Arthur snatched the scarf away from Merlin and held it to his nose. “I was wondering what was keeping the two of you. I thought I heard something.” 

“I didn’t hear anything.” Merlin anxiously looked over his shoulder to Gwaine. “Did you hear something?” 

Gwaine crossed his arms over his chest, but he kept his smile in check. He must have had some sort of self-preservation buried under all his idiocy. “No, I didn’t hear anything. Which direction did the sound come from? I’ll be happy to investigate.” 

Arthur didn’t even think about taking the opportunity to send Gwaine away for a few seconds. He gestured idly to the left, and Gwaine bowed a little before dutifully going off to chase after a sound they both knew didn’t exist. 

“Has it stopped bleeding yet?” Merlin asked, his face far too close to Arthur’s. 

Arthur jerked away. “It’ll be fine.” 

“Let me see. It might be broken.” 

“It’s not broken.” 

“It _might_ be.” 

“Even if it were, what would you do about it?” 

“I’d have to set it.” 

“Like I’d let you try.” 

“Arthur, I’m Gaius’s apprentice. I’ve set broken bones before.” 

“You’re so clumsy, you’d only make it worse. But it doesn’t matter because it’s not broken anyway.” 

“I’m the clumsy one? Who walked into a tree? Oh…sorry,” Merlin added off of Arthur’s glare. “Come on. I’ve got willow bark in my bag.” 

“You’re just prepared for everything, aren’t you?” 

“I try to be,” Merlin replied, resolutely cheerful in the face of Arthur’s sullen mood. That should have annoyed Arthur most of all, but he felt mollified by Merlin’s cheeky grin. Merlin often reacted to the sight of Arthur’s field injuries with good humor, as if to say _I know this is nothing more than a minor flesh wound and we’ll have it taken care of in no time. Nothing to worry about here._ “I never know what I’ll need when I’m with you.” 

“Why are you with me?” 

“Is that a trick question?” 

“What are you doing out here on my quest, Merlin? Why did you find Gwaine and follow me to the dark tower?” 

“Are you still going on about that? I thought we finished talking about it hours ago.” 

“Yes, I’m still going on about it. I want an explanation, Merlin.” 

“You were going to ride through the _Perilous Lands_. Of course I was worried about you.” 

“So you don’t think I’m capable of looking after myself.” Arthur had meant it as a comment on Merlin’s obviously low intelligence, but it sounded steeped in bitterness. 

“I had reason to believe you were in particular danger,” Merlin muttered, digging through the bag. Arthur supposed he should congratulate himself on killing Merlin’s relentless smile. It would only stay gone until Gwaine’s return, though. Then Merlin would brighten and scamper over to the other man and ask him if he needed anything. Perhaps he would like some of Arthur’s food? 

“What particular danger?” 

“Arthur…can’t you just trust me?” 

“No.” 

“You expect me to trust you.” 

“Because I am your prince! If I’m going to be king, I’ll need the trust of all the people of Camelot. Is it so much to ask to have yours now?” 

“You do have mine, Arthur. This trip wasn’t about not trusting you. I…there was some sort of illness going through Camelot. We feared you’d been exposed to the same air and water as the people who died. Gaius sent me to make sure you weren’t sick with it. If I had caught you before you reached the tower, I would have given you his cure. But you were already passed out when I saw you, so that’s why you don’t remember that bit.” 

It was a good enough story to accept, but there were some flaws. Where was the bracelet Morgana gave him? Why wasn’t Merlin sick with this mysterious illness? Why could he not remember _anybody_ in Camelot being brought down by some plague? His strength had drained gradually at first, but by the time he reached the edge of the Perilous Lands, he’d been delirious and weak. Every gesture took so much energy, every step would certainly be his last. Arthur wasn’t even sure how he made it through the wasteland or how he pulled himself from the quicksand. He had little memory of those acts, but he still recalled the dreams he had while passed out. In a few years, he’d probably remember nothing but the dreams, his nearly-fake quest reduced to Arthur passed out and exhausted. 

“I didn’t realize you and Gwaine were so close.” 

Merlin knelt between Arthur’s legs and gently took the rag from his face. Arthur tried not to wince, but his skin felt tight over his swelling eyes and nose. He’d probably have two black eyes in the morning, all because Gwaine and Merlin had to sneak about like the little sneaks they were. They were naturally liars, not to be trusted. All peasants were, according to Uther, and Arthur would suffer the consequences if he ever forgot that. 

“I needed his help, Arthur. I had no idea where you were going or what I’d be facing. I couldn’t go alone.” 

“And you couldn’t just stay home.” 

“No, I couldn’t. I told you, Arthur, you’d been exposed to something…something terrible. Your quest would have ended in failure because of it. I know you’re…upset with me. I know you wanted to do this by yourself, but I wasn’t going to stay in Camelot and let you die.” 

Gwaine rustled the underbrush, signaling his return before he stepped into the clearing where they’d made camp. Arthur liked Gwaine’s discretion. He liked the intelligence he saw shining in the other man, liked his quick wit and his quicker reflexes. He liked the way Gwaine fought, the way he’d agreed to help a friend when his friend was in a tight spot. He didn’t like Gwaine’s love affair with taverns, his taste for the expensive alcohol, his propensity to get into fights, or the way he had Merlin wrapped around his finger. Perhaps it was Merlin who had Gwaine wrapped around _his_ finger, but Arthur liked that thought even less. 

“The area’s all clear,” he announced. “We may be safe this close to the border.” 

“It’s never safe.” 

“If often is safe for peaceful people,” Gwaine said, settling beside Merlin, legs stretched out in front of him, hands clasped behind his head. He was the very image of comfort, perfectly at ease in the dark forest. Why not? He probably bedded down in the woods every night. In this case, despite Arthur’s experience as a hunter and a woodsman, he was very much the interloper. “I usually only have trouble if I go looking for it.” 

“I was attacked by Bayard’s men in this very forest,” Arthur said tightly. “It is not always safe.” 

“But you’re not a peaceful person, my lord. You’re the prince of Camelot.” 

Arthur stiffened. “What are you saying?” 

“He’s not saying anything, sire.” 

“I’m saying that nobles are not peaceful men.” 

Arthur wasn’t a peaceful man. He was a warrior, a knight. He embodied the antithesis of peaceful, and his father had won the crown of Camelot through bloody battles, securing it on a foundation of bones. But the casual observation cut Arthur right to his heart. He didn’t have a rejoinder, couldn’t think of a single thing he wanted to say. 

“Here, Arthur, drink this.” 

Merlin pushed a small cup into his hand. Arthur braced himself for the bitter bite of willow bark on the back of his tongue and swallowed the concoction. These potions and elixirs always left a terrible taste on the back of his tongue. One that usually couldn’t be washed away. Except for whatever Merlin had poured down his throat earlier that day. Whatever miraculous combination he used to beat the strange illness and restore Arthur’s strength and vitality hadn’t left even the hint of an after taste. If Merlin hadn’t told him he’d specifically disobeyed Arthur to bring him the cure, Arthur never would have guessed one had been administered. 

“I’m turning in,” Arthur announced. “I suggest you two do the same since we’re getting up before dawn tomorrow.” 

Arthur settled on his bedroll, as close to the fire as he could stand, the trident resting in one hand, his sword in the other. As soon as he laid down, his body gratefully conceded to the exhaustion that’d been dogging his heels all day. A few hours wouldn’t be enough, either. He planned to retire early when they returned to Camelot and sleep the sleep of the dead. Here, the most luxury he could afford was a light doze, one easily broken by a log snapping in the fire, or the approach of bandits, or, in this case, Gwaine and Merlin talking on the other side of the camp. 

“He’s mad at me. He thinks I ruined his quest.” 

“You didn’t ruin his quest,” Gwaine said, deep voice firm. 

“He thinks I did. I wish I could just…” 

“Just what?” 

Merlin sighed. “Just make him understand. I had no intention of leaving Camelot until I discovered how much danger he was in. He almost died.” 

“Considering how little he knows of his own quest, I think he’s doing quite well. Imagine how you would feel if you only knew things from his perspective.” 

“I know. But if I think about that, then I just think about how much I wish I could tell him.” 

“Perhaps you should.” 

“He’d never believe me. Even after everything we’ve been through, he wouldn’t believe me now.” 

Merlin sighed. Arthur risked cracking his eye open see he was sitting with his elbows on his knees, slumped forward and exhausted. He looked older, more care worn into his face. He looked sad. Arthur had been trained to withstand all things, carved and sculpted into a hard man, strong enough to take his father’s crown. But there were two things in this world that went directly to his heart, gnawing at the muscle in his chest until he was _forced_ to do something to fix it because it would probably kill him if he didn’t. Guinevere’s tears were one. Merlin’s sad frown was another—though to be honest, the few times he’d witnessed Merlin cry, especially when he was trying so hard not to cry, had nearly reduced Arthur to tears himself. 

Merlin’s sadness apparently had the same sort of affect on Gwaine, who didn’t hesitate to put his arm around Merlin and pull him close. Merlin immediately returned the embrace, comfortably putting his face in the crook of Gwaine’s neck as though he’d done it a thousand times before. Within moments, things moved beyond merely friendly, Gwaine’s touch first comforting and then intimate. Arthur could have just closed his eyes. He should have just closed his eyes. He shouldn’t watch this stranger comforting Merlin, soothing the wounds that Arthur had clumsily inflicted. Yes, he was disappointed in the way the quest had gone, but Merlin didn’t really ruin it himself. He wasn’t angry at Merlin for being loyal and brave. One word from him, and Merlin wouldn’t have needed Gwaine to comfort him. 

The kiss they shared was unhurried and completely at ease. They didn’t kiss each other like clandestine lovers, starving for any moment of affection after days—weeks—of drought. Arthur knew a great deal about those types of kisses. He knew nothing of the sort of caress he witnessed now. They kissed like they had every right in the world to each other’s mouths, and furthermore, they were going to enjoy every second of the contact. They kissed like they didn’t care if Arthur saw them. Which was good, Arthur told himself. How many times had he subtly and not-so-subtly encouraged Merlin to find somebody to keep him company? This was good. It was fair. Arthur could now court Gwen without the needling remorse, and Merlin would have brave, strong, witty, charming Gwaine to hold him and kiss him. Then Merlin wouldn’t need Arthur at all. 

When Arthur had prepared for his quest, he never imagined that in the end, what he lost would be more significant than what he gained. 

#

Arthur rode several feet ahead of Merlin and Gwaine, wondering how two people could find so much to say to each other. Merlin chattered on like he always did, only the noise wasn’t meant for Arthur. He never asked Arthur his opinion about the shape of the clouds (“They’re clouds, Merlin. They’re shaped like clouds. What else would they be?”), or the color of the trees (“Well it’s not harvest yet. Of course they’re very green), or the relative ranking of the quest. But oh, how he welcomed Gwaine’s opinions. How they reveled in each other’s shared ridiculousness. How they laughed at their own stupid little jokes, expressions of pure joy following him like bird’s songs no matter how many times he kicked his horse forward. 

On the bright side, while they were talking their mouths were too busy for other activities. They’d spent most of the previous night kissing, finally passing out in each other’s arms. They’d stayed there like that all night. When Arthur woke Merlin with a good kick to the leg, he didn’t comment on Merlin’s completely ignored bedroll. Merlin had seemed disoriented, then afraid, and finally offered Arthur his goofy grin meant to diffuse any situation. There was nothing to diffuse. Arthur wasn’t angry. He’d have to have some sort of prior claim on Merlin to be angry and he _didn’t_. At all. He’d released Merlin from any and all promises they’d made each other when both of them became aware of the fact that Arthur really would have to marry. 

If it had been up to Arthur, they wouldn’t have stopped for a midday meal. But he was outvoted. He, the crown prince, was _outvoted_ by a fugitive of Camelot and a manservant. They were hungry. They wanted to rest. There was no reason to be in such a big hurry, nobody even expected Arthur’s return for two or three more days. Arthur tuned out their perfectly reasonable explanations and settled in to polish the trident. 

“Sire? Arthur?” Merlin sat on the ground beside him, folding his long legs in a graceful motion. “Do you have a headache?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Your nose isn’t bothering you?” 

“It’s fine.” 

“I have more willow bark if you’d like it. Gwaine found a stream not far from here. The water is quite cold. It might help with the swelling. And the, uh, blood. Honestly, Arthur, you look quite a fright.” 

It was about time Merlin finally remembered that he was supposed to be taking care of Arthur and seeing to his needs. He stood wordlessly, expecting Merlin to follow him—which he did. Arthur didn’t know where Gwaine was, but he decided not to spoil the moment by asking. He’d have to try to be nicer to Gwaine that afternoon. He didn’t want the other man to carry a grudge against Arthur, not when he could count his true friends on one hand. He’d worry about that later, though. When the dried blood was cleaned from his face and his head wasn’t throbbing quite so regularly. 

They found a soft patch of grass on the bank and knelt at the side of the crystal clear water. Merlin wet his rag first, rinsing it as much as he could before wringing out the excess moisture and gently dabbing Arthur’s face. Arthur closed his eyes at the first cold touch. It was chillier than he expected, especially in the dry summer air, and he couldn’t suppress his shiver. Merlin worked slowly, washing the blood away one delicate gesture at a time. After Arthur became accustomed to the icy water, he was free to notice other things. Like how close Merlin’s face was to his own, and how warm his breath felt as it fanned across Arthur’s skin. Not too long ago, Arthur would have taken Merlin’s proximity as an invitation to kiss him. 

God he wanted to kiss Merlin. He wanted to claim that mouth as his own. He wanted to do everything Gwaine got to do the night before, and then take a step beyond. He could never say so, but he missed waking up with Merlin still in his bed, missed his gangly arms and his smooth skin, missed the warm smell on the back of his neck. Arthur had thought they could go back to the way things were before. He’d thought it would be easy. Nothing ever was. 

“There,” Merlin breathed. “That’s better, isn’t it?” 

_He’d never believe me. Even after everything we’ve been through, he wouldn’t believe me now._

“Yes. Thank you.” 

_Why can’t you trust me, Merlin? How have I ever wronged you so much that you believe you can’t trust me? Why is it easier for you to trust a man you barely know than it is to trust me? I’d do anything for you. Don’t you know that by now?_

“I mean that,” Arthur added before Merlin stepped away. “Thank you. You didn’t ruin my quest.” 

“Really?” 

“It was ruined before you got there.” 

Merlin frowned. “What do you mean?” 

“The illness. Whatever was wrong with me. I could barely walk.” 

“But you walked all the way to the tower,” Merlin pointed out. “Arthur, trust me, you were…you were almost dead, and you just got up and kept walking. Do you know how amazing that is?” 

Arthur stared at him blankly. 

“You’re Courage.” Merlin touched his cheek, his fingertips cold from the water. Arthur caught his breath at the contact, promptly forgetting all the reasons he’d forced himself to stop touching Merlin. 

“Courage? That’s what that strange little man called me on the bridge.” 

“I know. We met him, too. Gwaine’s strength and I’m…” 

“What? Wisdom?” 

“Yes, in fact.” 

Arthur snorted, trying and failing to bite back his smile. Merlin’s grim emerged slowly, his eyes dancing with amusement. 

“And he wasn’t joking?” 

“No. He was quite serious.” 

“And he meant _you_ , right? There’s not another Merlin running around Albion that he might have confused you with?” 

“No.” Now he was smiling widely. “I’m one of a kind.” 

Arthur’s grin faded. “You are. Which is probably a good thing for the kingdom.” 

Merlin’s eyes turned wistful. “Sometimes I wish there were two of me so I could…keep up with all the chores you give me.” 

That wasn’t what Merlin was going to say, but Arthur chose not to press. “Sometimes I wish there were two of me, too.” 

“Ugh. No, thank you.” 

“Hey! It wouldn’t be that bad. In fact, it would be bloody brilliant. Two of me to patrol the kingdom and fight bandits. Any time one of me is stuck in a boring meeting, the other one could be out hunting or something.” 

“Two of you to boss me around and nag at me about your clothes. Which means I’d have twice as much armor to polish, twice as much laundry, twice as many meals to fetch. The kitchen would never be able to keep up with both of you.” 

“Since the second me would often be hunting, I’d be able to feed myself, thank you very much. Besides, if there were two of me, there’d have to be two of you. Wait. Gwaine is Strength?” 

“That’s what the little man on the bridge said.” 

“I’m stronger than Gwaine.” 

“No, I don’t think you are.” 

“ _Mer_ lin.” 

“I mean, you’re faster and braver and there’s no equal when it comes to the sword. You don’t need me to tell you that.” 

“It’s just the truth.” 

“Exactly. But Gwaine…might be a little bit stronger.” 

“Is that why…” Arthur finally looked away. “Is that why you like him?” 

“Oh, we’re going to talk about this.” 

“Why wouldn’t we?” 

“Because sometimes we don’t talk about things. Most times. Okay, all the time.” 

“We don’t have to talk about this now, if you’d rather not.” 

Merlin idly dragged the rag through the water, letting the small currents catch it and tug against him. Arthur watched him swishing it around, almost hypnotized by the way it moved beneath the water, with the water. He leaned closer to Merlin, purposefully invading his space, hoping Merlin wouldn’t try to tilt back. 

“No, we can talk about it now. I just…I don’t know what you want me to say.” 

“Nothing.” 

“You don’t want me to say anything? Then why did you bring it up?” 

Arthur sighed. This was why they didn’t talk about anything. Bringing everything to the surface was painful and pointless, a futile exercise that never left either one of them feeling better. Arthur wished he knew what to do. 

“There’s something special about Gwaine. He’s not like other people I know.” 

Arthur ducked his head to hide his grimace, making that small concession to Merlin’s feelings since Arthur had been responsible for introducing the subject. He didn’t want to know, but he needed to know. It wasn’t any of his business. He’d never know a second of peace until he had his questions answered. Was Merlin in love with Gwaine? Arthur rearranged the thought in his mind, considering it from different angles, trying to smooth down the sharp corners so it wouldn’t gouge into his heart. The heart Arthur had already sworn to Gwen. Apparently, even that wasn’t enough to protect it. 

“He’s a good man,” Arthur said stiffly. “Very brave and he…treats you well.” 

“I’m glad you noticed.” 

“I noticed a lot. Like…last night. When you thought I was asleep.” 

“Arthur, do you want us to stop?” 

“Of course not. Why would I even care what you do in your spare time?” 

“I don’t know. Why would you?” Merlin touched the back of his neck, pulling him closer when Arthur was pretty sure they should be putting more space between them. Arthur was strong and noble, but even he had his limits, and Merlin was busy testing them. As usual. 

“Your fingers are cold,” Arthur murmured. 

“No, the back of your neck is hot. Listen, I think your quest was quite successful. I think…I think the quest was supposed to bring the three of us together.” 

“My quest was to bring you closer to your boyfriend?” 

“No, that’s not even close to what I said. Listen to me for once, would you?” 

“If you ever said anything worthwhile, I’d listen to you.” 

“Well then today is your lucky day, because this might be the most important thing I ever say.” 

“I’m prepared to be stunned.” 

“The three of us have a destiny. Together.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Courage.” He put a hand over Arthur’s heart. “Or the heart.” He took Arthur’s other hand with his, locking their fingers together. “Gwaine is strength, or the hand.” 

“And so that makes you the brains of the outfit?” 

“I don’t make up the rules here, Arthur. But it’s good of you to finally recognize that fact. Anyway, the three of us have to work together.” 

Arthur jerked away from Merlin, the drops of water on his neck suddenly cooler as his skin heated. He didn’t shove Merlin intentionally as he jumped to his feet, but he still managed to knock him back. He caught himself on one hand, staring up at Arthur with confusion. Arthur looked at the trees over Merlin’s shoulder, his eyes unwavering because he didn’t want Merlin to see the truth. And he didn’t want to see anything except the staggered trees. Beyond them, he was beginning to sense the misty outline of his future, the shapes and shadows that made the landscape of this destiny Merlin sometimes spoke of so confidently. But they were just shadows. How could Merlin talk about these murky silhouettes like they were real things? And now he was supposed to believe that Gwaine fit in this disjointed puzzle? That they were bound together in some way? 

“Merlin? Arthur?” Gwaine’s voice echoed off the trees, throwing off Arthur’s sense of direction. He turned first to the left then the right before catching sight of the other man. 

“We’re by the creek,” Merlin called back. 

Gwaine held up two rabbits by their hind legs with a grin of triumph. “Who’s hungry?” 

Merlin grinned and hurried over to take the game from Gwaine. Arthur caught a glimpse of scarlet on Gwaine’s fingers before he knelt at the bank and plunged his hands into the water. Merlin sent one more look at Arthur over his shoulder before disappearing to where they set up camp, leaving the two of them inexorably alone. With Merlin out of sight, Arthur realized he’d be expected to speak. 

“I don’t know about you, your highness, but I could use a drink.” Gwaine waved his hands, flinging the water from him in hundreds of sparkling drops. 

“We’re days from the nearest tavern.” 

“Two days, as a matter of fact.” Gwaine leaned back on his heels and pulled his shirt overhead. “What do you think of a bit of a detour?” 

“My father is expecting me.” 

“Not for days, maybe weeks.” Gwaine rinsed the blood out of his shirt, holding it down for a few seconds before wringing it out. Arthur didn’t need to stand there and watch him, watch this. But he couldn’t look away. “Nothing lifts a man’s spirit like a tankard of ale.” 

“Especially if it’s bought with the prince’s gold.” 

“Ah, see? We do understand each other.” 

“Unfortunately for you, I’m not a pushover like Merlin.” 

“Does that mean you won’t pick up the tab?” Gwaine snapped the cloth and then carefully laid it on the grass beside him to dry. “Or does it mean I’d just have to make sure Merlin asked you?” 

“I don’t do everything Merlin asks of me,” Arthur said defensively. 

Gwaine shrugged like it made no difference to him. Either way, he’d be happily drunk. 

“What does it do, then?” 

“What?” 

“The trident? What can you use it for?” 

“It doesn’t do anything. It’s an _artifact_.” 

“Then why was it so important for you to fetch it?” 

“It’s a quest. Fetching it is the whole point.” 

“Why were you sent on a quest for it if it doesn’t do anything?” 

“It’s a _quest_.” 

“Repeating that phrase doesn’t answer my question.” 

Arthur sighed. “Because the destination isn’t a point of the quest. I could have been sent to collect anything. The important thing is that I’ve done it.” 

“Why is that the important thing?” 

“Are you soft in the head?” 

“I’m a peasant. Isn’t that the same thing to you nobles?” 

“Are you saying peasants have no need for this sort of knowledge?” 

“Peasants go on quests all the time. Only they’re seeking food or work or shelter for their children. You’ve never had to wonder about your next meal, have you? If you miss your supper, you can rest assured that Merlin will be there with your breakfast in the morning.” 

“Be that as it may,” Arthur said between gritted teeth, “the point of this quest is to prove my worth.” 

“You mean as king? How does bringing back a shiny bauble prove anything about your ability as king? The tournaments I understand. The people want to know that their king can defend them, want to know their homes are secure. But what do the people care about some old relic?” 

“I don’t expect somebody like you to understand.” 

“Fair enough. Explain it to me.” 

“Because a king, a good king, should be able to overcome any adversity with integrity and honor. He should be brave.” 

“Battle doesn’t test integrity and courage?” 

“This was a battle. It may not have been a siege, but not every challenge a king faces will amount to armed combat.” Arthur set his jaw, prepared for another idiotic barb or joke at his expense. He was beginning to miss Merlin, who might ask him idiotic questions about perfectly obvious things, but who actually seemed to listen to the answers. 

Gwaine leaned back, resting on his hands, each muscle in his chest and stomach sharply defined. “What was the challenge in this quest?” 

“It was to keep going,” Arthur said slowly. “Even when I believed I couldn’t walk another step.” 

“So you think you can lighten up on Merlin a bit?” 

“Merlin’s fine.” 

“Well of course he seems fine. He can’t exactly tell you you’re being an arse and he was only trying to help.” 

“But you can?” 

“I’m not a subject of Camelot, am I?” 

“How I treat my manservant is none of your business,” Arthur tried, tired of the conversation. The muscles in his jaw and neck were beginning to ache, and the pain in his face increased by the second. He’d battled men and beast, traveled far from home to a magical land that didn’t even really exist on maps, and it was a short conversation on the side of a creek that threatened to finally undo him. 

“How you treat my friend is my business.” 

Something about the way he said friend caught Arthur’s attention, and for the first time since Merlin went back to camp, Arthur really looked at Gwaine. The delicacies and nuances of other people’s feelings often escaped him, mainly because he didn’t care. He tried to please his father, tried not to offend Morgana, and lately, did his best not to hurt Merlin. As a result, he could recognize displeasure, offense, and Merlin’s hurt feelings, but with everybody else, he was at a complete loss. It made wooing Gwen a particularly difficult and awkward affair, full of invisible traps and awkward pauses. But he understood the look he saw on Gwaine’s face. 

Gwaine was in love with Merlin. 

“I already thanked him.” 

“Is that what I walked in on? Your expression of gratitude? Seemed a little cold.” 

“I’m sure you would have preferred something warmer,” Arthur sneered. 

“I’m not sure you’re capable of it.” 

“You have no idea what I’m capable of.” 

“No, I think I do. It’s you that doesn’t seem to know.” 

“I’m going to see how Merlin is doing with lunch,” Arthur announced for wont of anything better to say. Gwaine laid back on the grass, pillowing his head beneath his interlocked hands, looking like a man who didn’t have a care in his head.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur lost interest in polishing the trident, so he turned his attention to sharpening his sword, somewhat soothed by the familiar sound of the whet stone traveling over steel. Gwain polished his weapon as well, leaving Merlin to stare dreamily into the fire, his chores complete for the night. Arthur didn’t know where Merlin’s mind went when he lapsed into silence, what darker thoughts pulled him from his chatter. His efforts to coax Merlin into sharing always failed, but sometimes he still tried, hoping if he poked and prodded enough he would catch Merlin in an unguarded moment. He didn’t know what he would do if his plan ever actually worked and Merlin did reveal everything, including truths Arthur had no doubt he didn’t want to know. 

Did Gwaine have any more success at the effort than Arthur did? Was he already Merlin’s closest confidante? Why shouldn’t he be? Arthur may have longed to know Merlin’s secrets, but he’d already rejected that role in Merlin’s life. So he didn’t get to hear the secrets, and he didn’t get to sit a little too close to him around the fire, and he didn’t get to be so jealous of Gwaine that he yearned for violence. There were things he wasn’t entitled to, even as prince. 

When Merlin stood, Arthur braced himself to witness something he didn’t want to see. Now that Merlin knew Arthur knew of him and Gwaine, would he have any motivation to keep their intimate moments private? Merlin may not think it necessary, since Arthur’s love life would be on display for public consumption, sooner or later, and Merlin was one of the few people who would probably witness the majority of it. 

But Merlin didn’t move to Gwaine’s side. He sat on the log besides Arthur, leaning in too close and staring until Arthur was finally forced to growl, “What?” 

“I’m just checking your face.” 

“I’ve taken worse hits, Merlin. I’m fine.” 

Merlin lowered his voice. “You were grimacing.” 

“I wasn’t.” 

“You were. You’re either in pain or you’re thinking about something that upsets you.” 

“How do you know? You weren’t even looking at me.” 

“It’s my job to anticipate your needs.” 

“Is it? I’m sorry, Merlin, I can’t recall the last time you’ve done anything like that.” 

“I’ve been remiss in my duties, sire. Let me make that up to you now.” 

“Good. You can start with my armor. It was a bit damp when I removed it and…” _And you know how that can lead to rust._ Arthur never had the chance to get the words out. Merlin’s mouth cut them off, his lips teasing Arthur’s into parting. More desperate for the contact than he’d realized, Arthur returned the kiss, allowing Merlin to push for more and take liberties with his hands that no prince should ever allow a servant. He smelled woodsy, like the fire, and there was a wild tinge to his skin. Something bitter and above them. Nobody else smelled like Merlin—like Samhain fires and holly at midwinter and freshly tilled soil in the spring. Arthur couldn’t passively accept whatever small caresses Merlin wanted to give him. He pushed his tongue into Merlin’s mouth, moaning, begging him to take away this brooding restlessness, the strange ache that plagued him. 

Arthur forgot about Gwaine until Merlin lifted his head, and then he felt the weight of the other man’s stare. Gwaine might challenge him. He _should_ throw down his gauntlet. Arthur would do the same if somebody kissed the person he loved with such obvious, hungry need. When he looked across the fire to Gwaine, it was with defiance. But he didn’t see any anger in Gwaine’s steady expression. At most, he thought he saw a flicker of amusement in the low orange light. 

“Arthur.” Merlin touched his cheek, drawing his attention away from Gwaine. 

“We _can’t_ ,” Arthur whispered, though he might as well have shouted it. Gwaine was only feet away, and even a whispered conversation carried in the otherwise still night. “He…there are feelings and…” 

“And he understands why I need to do this.” 

“It’s not fair for him,” Arthur forced out, using all of his strength to turn his head away from Merlin. He couldn’t stand to look at either one of them, and even though he needed Merlin more than he needed air at that moment, he wasn’t going to hurt Gwaine like that. That wasn’t how he repaid his debt to men who saved his life. He couldn’t just take everything he wanted, regardless of who it belonged to. No, of course he _could_ do that. As the prince, everything technically belonged to him, including Merlin. But he _wouldn’t_. 

He expected that to be the end of it, leaving him with one really fantastic memory to keep him up the rest of the night. He heard Gwaine’s clothes rustle as he stood, and Arthur tensed, prepared for the inevitable altercation. But Gwaine didn’t throw his gauntlet at Arthur’s feet. He didn’t haul Merlin away. He didn’t make a snide comment, didn’t kiss Merlin to stake his rightful claim. Arthur was a little confused on what, exactly, Gwaine would do until Gwaine took him by his shoulders and hauled him to his feet like Arthur weighed no more than a child. 

“Merlin’s right. You are the most pigheaded man.” 

Arthur took more offense at that than he did the way Gwaine manhandled him. “I’m not pigheaded.” 

“You’re arrogant, too. Do you really think you can afford to turn your back on what Merlin offers so freely? It’s a gift, his love, and it shouldn’t be tossed aside.” 

“It’s a gift that no longer belongs to me,” Arthur said, more confused than angry. 

“The three of us all want the same thing, do we not?” 

“I don’t know,” Arthur said, while Merlin nodded eagerly beside him. 

Gwaine gently spun Arthur to face his manservant, grip still firm on Arthur’s shoulders. He pushed himself against Arthur’s back, his hard body giving Arthur no recourse, no escape route. Arthur wanted to resist him, but he couldn’t deny the simple fact that it felt good. Really, really wonderful. It felt even better when Merlin wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him tight, neatly securing Arthur between the two of them. 

Arthur settled his hand on Merlin’s hip as their mouths met again. He pushed aside the two reasons he shouldn’t kiss Merlin, sighing into the familiar heat of Merlin’s mouth, tongue sweeping over the soft curves. It was always so easy to kiss Merlin once he got started, his mouth eager to devour Merlin’s, his pulse hammering wildly at his throat. His chest loosened, brittle chunks breaking apart until he could breathe again. Fear had been the mortar holding each stone of doubt in place, layer after layer piling up as he fought enemies from every direction. Merlin’s lips were hot and a little bit sloppy, sliding over Arthur’s with unpracticed exuberance. Clearly Gwaine hadn’t taught him anything, but Arthur didn’t care. He opened up to Merlin, practically begging him to take Arthur apart piece by piece. 

He was so wrapped up in the relief buffeting him that he forgot Gwaine standing right behind him. Until Gwaine kissed the side of Arthur’s neck and heat shot through him, starting at his throat and stabbing into his groin. He may have made the most un-princely sound in the history of the monarchy, tilting his head to the side just enough to invite Gwaine to continue. He reached back with his free hand, groping for any connection he could make with the other man. The three of them stood locked like that for long, sweet moments, silent except for the dizzying sounds of greedy kisses and lips sucking on skin, occasionally punctuated by sharp gasps and quivering groans. 

Merlin pushed his fingers between their bodies and tugged at his laces, relieving the pressure against Arthur’s hard cock. It felt like an eternity since Merlin touched him like this. They’d gone on as they always had, Merlin helping him dress and undress, resolutely pretending nothing had really changed at all between them, pretending to be professional about the whole situation. It had been cruel to both of them, but it had seemed like the best solution. Now there wasn’t anything careful about Merlin’s long fingers as they sought the rigid flesh. Just the hint of his fingertips gliding over Arthur’s skin had him hitching his breath. 

Gwaine’s hand was busy, too. He flattened his palm over Arthur’s stomach, holding him with unexpected tenderness before sliding his had upward to caress Arthur’s chest. His nails scraped over one nipple, already hardened into a peak, his mouth forming a smile against Arthur’s neck when he felt the unmistakable shudder rolling through Arthur’s frame. After days of maddening illness and tedious pain, all of this pleasure was almost too much for Arthur to take all at once. His balls tightened, and he had to break away from Merlin to catch his breath and will his arousal back. His eyes fluttered shut as he tilted his head back, throat working as he gulped for breath. 

When he opened his eyes again, Merlin filled his vision, eyes half-closed, lips swollen and parted. Emotion slammed through Arthur with such force that he was almost staggered with it, and he had no choice but to close his eyes again until he felt as though he had some semblance of control over himself. Merlin made a strangled sound and then attached himself to the other side of Arthur’s neck, sucking hungrily on the yet unmarred skin. Arthur’s eyes rolled back, knees bending as they attacked him from both sides. He knew Merlin was good at this. Merlin was more than just good. He always exhibited a level of dedication and enthusiasm he never had for his chores. He found the sensitive points nobody had touched in months, using his teeth and tongue as boldly as Gwaine. 

Arthur let time slip away from him as he basked in their combined attention. They touched every inch of him, and his head was full of the sounds and smell of the two men. The inside of his cheek tingled, tiny pin pricks of anticipation rolling along his jaw and down his throat. He tried to swallow it down, but the sensation didn’t fade. He caught Merlin by the chin, dragging his mouth back to Arthur’s lips, hoping a long, wet kiss would sooth the tingling flesh, but it was like pouring oil on a fire. Instead of being doused, his need only sharpened, tightening the tendons in his jaw and neck. 

The tips of Merlin’s long fingers tickled across Arthur’s balls, the nails lightly catching his loose skin. Arthur whimpered, and Merlin made a comforting sound deep in his throat which sounded awfully close to a whimper. Normally, Arthur wouldn’t mind, wouldn’t even notice, except Gwaine was right there, and he must have heard them, panting and moaning for each other in a rather undignified way. Maybe he was arrogant to turn his back on Merlin’s affections, just egotistical enough to convince himself he really didn’t _need_ Merlin even though he very obviously did. There was absolutely no question of that. 

Despite that, Arthur managed to break the kiss and lift his head. Merlin blinked up at him with foggy eyes, and Arthur thought he probably looked just as blurry. His narrow shoulders were rising and falling with each rapid breath, and his skin was pink from his throat to his scalp. Arthur gathered up the edges of Merlin’s shirt, lifting the material over his chest just as Gwaine caught Arthur’s breeches and tugged them to his ankles. Arthur’s eyebrow arched up into his hair, and he looked over his shoulder in time to see Gwaine sink to his knees. Technically, he belonged on his knees, but something about the way Gwaine did it made it clear that this had absolutely nothing to do with paying the crown the proper respect. The curve of his mouth made it clear he had every intention of debauching the crown prince. 

Merlin took the material from Arthur’s fingers and whisked his shirt off. Arthur’s shirt followed. It was in no way a good idea to be bare ass naked in the middle of a dense wood, surrounded as they were by bandits and other villains. But Arthur felt safe in a way he hadn’t expected. Nothing could harm the three of them. Not while they were together. That’s what all that talk on the bridge had been about. Courage. Strength. 

Magic. 

Not wisdom, as Merlin had claimed. The third in the triad was _magic_. Merlin had magic. No, not just that. Gwaine didn’t just have strength, Arthur didn’t just have courage. Merlin _was_ magic. The world readjusted itself around him, settling into place as it should be, every corner fitting together snugly, every question answered. Nearly every question. There was something going on in Camelot. Maybe the workings of his own destiny. He wasn’t sure, but he could sense it happening around him. Somehow, Merlin’s magic was the keystone, and now that he’d solved that mystery, he could begin to unlock the other puzzles. 

He looked down at Merlin, who was now quite busily licking Arthur’s chest. He was supposed to believe all magic users were evil, but Merlin didn’t seem very evil. Except when he traced his tongue over Arthur’s nipple, teasing the flesh until white-hot bolts of pleasure shot directly to his cock. Slick liquid coated his cock, fresh pre-come dripping from his slit with every pull of Merlin’s tongue. Gwaine’s rubbed his hands over Arthur’s ass and down the back of his legs, his mouth curiously absent but his callused fingers doing something Arthur couldn’t even describe. He never considered the back of his legs a particularly special place, but his muscles jumped and quivered as Gwaine’s strong fingers traveled over the landscape of his flesh, lingering behind his knees and on the slope of his thigh and over the curve of his ass. 

Arthur worked on Merlin’s pants, unable to rip the tightly woven fabric away from him. He had to work it past Merlin’s hips, pulling the belt loose with shaking fingers. Merlin didn’t help the already difficult task. He mouthed a line down Arthur’s jaw and over his neck and shoulder, his lips so sweetly soft, his tongue so hot. 

“Arthur,” Merlin breathed in his ear, hot breath fanning over his skin. That was all. He didn’t add anything else, didn’t clarify, didn’t try to distract from the issue at hand. But Arthur heard a library of words behind the two syllables, a lifetime of meaning and promises he wasn’t sure he was ready for. Arthur managed to push Merlin’s breeches down, triumphantly gripping Merlin’s cock with one hand and palming his ass with the other, fingers flexing to grip the soft flesh. 

There was a sudden chill behind him, and he jerked around to see where Gwaine had gone. He was standing a few feet away, half-naked, rustling through Merlin’s bag. 

“Arthur,” Merlin murmured, drawing Arthur’s attention away from Gwaine. “Can I…I just want to feel you around me again.”

Arthur should have never allowed it in the first place, but he’d agreed to try it once. And once turned into twice, and then it just became something they did together. Arthur found Merlin’s weight against his back calming, and the initial pain bearable when compared to the later pleasure. But the thought of letting Merlin enter him with Gwaine as a witness sent a lance of fear through him. Merlin was close enough to feel him tense, and he slid his fingers through Arthur’s hair in an oddly soothing gesture. Arthur felt himself melt against the touch, the tension evaporating as quickly as it had arrived. 

“Gwaine won’t think anything of it,” Merlin assured him, but it didn’t really matter what he said. Not when his mouth was so close to Arthur’s skin, and his tongue kept darting out to taste him. His fingers tightened around Arthur’s shaft, which was a spectacularly unfair move as the gesture seemed to cut off all his higher brain functions. He couldn’t think of a coherent argument against Merlin’s suggestion, much less give it voice. So he nodded, clenching tight with a shiver of nerves he hadn’t even felt the first time he’d submitted to Merlin. 

Gwaine returned, but he didn’t take his place behind Arthur. He was just a shadow in Arthur’s peripheral vision until Merlin turned to him, rather rudely removing his lips from Arthur’s collarbone. He blinked as Merlin pulled Gwaine into a kiss with the same intensity he’d had for Arthur, and okay, that wasn’t pleasant. Arthur didn’t like watching that at all. It was worse than watching the two of them the night before. He wanted to yank Merlin back to his chest and growl at Gwaine until he just went away and left the two of them alone. 

He watched through an increasingly red haze until Merlin took his hand, and without looking up, guided it to Gwaine’s bare chest. The shock of touching skin that wasn’t his own or Merlin’s snapped him out of his dark mood. His fingers brushed across raised skin, and he had to squint into the darkness to see the scars marring Gwaine’s solid chest. They were everywhere, some thick, some thin, some thinner than a spider’s thread but still there. Arthur had known knights with fewer scars, and for the first time he began to have an inkling of the life Gwaine must have had. Could all of this be from bar fights and drunken brawls? Or was there a darker story behind these wounds? 

Arthur was fascinated. He forgot about his obsessive desire to claim Merlin, increasingly engrossed by the way Gwaine’s skin felt to the touch, by the pattern of scars, the small ridges and dips that made up the canvas of his chest. Finally, simply touching wasn’t enough. He dipped his head and dragged the flat of his tongue over a small, but vicious looking, scar on the front of his shoulder. Gwaine moaned and reached for Arthur, clasping the back of his head with a surprisingly light touch. He wasn’t demanding more from Arthur, wasn’t trying to take anything Arthur didn’t want to give him, but at the same time, he made his desires known. Arthur shuffled his feet forward, drawn to Gwaine’s warmth, and licked over the raised skin again. 

Arthur grew more bold in his explorations, delighting in Gwaine’s slightly saltier taste, his slightly stronger smell. Merlin was wild and fresh, coated in the forest and the breeze and sunshine. Gwaine made Arthur think of dark taverns, the sharply bitter bite of ale, of sweat and blood and cold nights spent alone. It wasn’t pleasant, but Arthur found himself enjoying it anyway. 

He didn’t realize that Merlin had broken away from Gwaine until Gwaine tugged him by his hair, forcing his head up to claim his mouth. Arthur _oomphed_ with surprise, and then he was lost in the delights of Gwaine’s lips, almost certain he could taste Merlin on them. He barely had time to register that before Gwaine deepened the caress, kissing him with a certain audacity that even Merlin never quite reached. There was a strange, misplaced sense of propriety in the kiss, and Arthur _liked_ it. He responded to it wholeheartedly, heady, lost, sinking, clutching. 

Merlin’s lips touched the back of his shoulder in a kiss so light it could have been the wind caressing him. Arthur tensed at the familiar touch. Merlin had kissed him like that before, though that had been in the quiet sanctuary of his chambers, lit only by a single, low candle. Merlin had whispered soft reassurances between those gentle kisses, promising Arthur it would be good and he’d be careful and he really loved him and he’d never, ever do anything to hurt him. A part of Arthur had wanted to snap at Merlin that he wasn’t some girl, he didn’t need to hear all the sweet nothings. But he’d let Merlin babble and now he didn’t need to hear the words to know the sentiment remained, as true and heartfelt as it’d ever been. 

Merlin’s slick fingers were the next thing he felt, sliding between his cheeks to spread the oil over his tight hole. It had been a long time since Merlin had touched him there, and it felt like even longer as Merlin worked the tip of his finger past the pucker. Arthur’s spine stiffened and he gasped, but Gwaine was there to swallow the small sound of protest, distracting Arthur with more pleasant sensations while Merlin worked his finger deeper. Merlin rested his forehead against Arthur’s back, breathing in rough, broken gasps. Arthur understood. He could barely breathe at all. 

When his chest felt like it might burst, he broke the kiss, swallowing hard to stop a broken moan. Merlin worked in a second finger, and Gwaine hadn’t even paused, zeroing in on Arthur’s throat, his beard almost rubbing Arthur’s skin raw. It burned, but in a wonderful, unexpected way that had Arthur tilting his head back all the way. Merlin caught him under the chin and tilted his head to the side, mouthing over skin still damp and red from Gwaine’s attentions. 

“How do you want it, sire?” 

It was the tone of Merlin’s voice more than the question that sent chills down his spine. He didn’t answer right away, brilliant, sweat-soaked images flashing his mind. Every scenario he imagined was perfect in its own way, every option driving him mad with want. There wasn’t enough time for all the ways he wanted it. Needed it. But he thought he knew where to start. 

“I want to be on all fours,” Arthur started, not unexpectedly. Merlin knew that was the most comfortable position for him. They’ve experimented with others, but more often than not, Arthur opted for his hands and knees. 

“What about Gwaine?” 

“I’ll take care of Gwaine.” 

They both stilled at the same time, and Arthur didn’t have to see Merlin’s face to know he was stunned. Gwaine lifted his head, his eyes seeking out Merlin rather than Arthur. Arthur didn’t know what gesture Merlin made behind his shoulder, but it was enough to snap Gwaine out of his surprise. 

“That’s quite…unexpected of you. Sire.” 

Arthur didn’t think it was that unexpected. Clearly he must have found some pleasure in that sort of thing, or he wouldn’t be standing naked in the woods with two of Merlin’s fingers buried deep inside of him. 

“Are you ready?” 

Arthur nodded. They stepped away from him in the same breath, Gwaine bending to straighten the bedroll beneath their feet. Arthur dropped to his knees, feeling heavy and hot, his hair sticking to his brow, the small pebbles and twigs beneath the thin blanket sharp against his palms. Gwaine kneeled before him, his cock jutting from between a thick thatch of dark hair, and cupped the back of his head, gently guiding him forward until his lips brushed across the crown. As soon as Arthur touched the velvety skin, doubt closed his throat. He’d only every done this with Merlin, and Merlin was _Merlin_. Arthur didn’t get nervous, so the fluttering in his stomach couldn’t be nerves, but he just wasn’t sure he could do this. 

“Just take a breath, Arthur,” Merlin said, fingers drifting down Arthur’s spine. 

Arthur did as he was told, inhaling deeply, catching the musty, distinct scent of Gwaine’s arousal. His cock was so close to Arthur’s mouth, the smooth skin right at his lips. A thin strand of pre-come caught on his bottom lip, stretching between them for a second before breaking. Arthur’s tongue darted out automatically, seeking the salty liquid. It tasted good enough that Arthur wanted more. Before long, his lips were wrapped around Gawain’s thick head, tongue brazenly digging against the slit. 

“God that’s good, Arthur. Yes…yes please…more of that…don’t stop…” 

He sank down Gwaine’s thick shaft, relaxing his jaw as it slid over his tongue. When the tip reached his throat, he stilled, holding it there until the blunt pressure didn’t feel so foreign and unwanted. He felt spit leaking from the corners of his stretched mouth, knew how he looked. Not like a prince. No prince would ever lower himself to this. No prince would ever swallow a peasant’s cock or hold it in his mouth so eagerly. Gwaine already treated him like he didn’t couldn’t quite bring himself to respect Arthur, much less care for him the way Merlin did—not that anybody cared for him the way Merlin did. How would this impact Gwaine’s opinion? 

Arthur glanced up through his lashes, hoping to see some sort of answer reflected on Gwaine’s face. What he saw more than reassured him. Gwaine wasn’t smirking or laughing at him. His face was serious, thoughtful, and when he noticed Arthur was watching him, he touched his hollowed cheek with reverence. Arthur’s trepidation disappeared in a flash. With his mind freed of the twisting vines of doubt, he could return his focus to Gwaine’s flesh, drawing his mouth back until he reached the ridge, then swallowing him down again. 

He felt Merlin settling behind him, his stomach clenching with excitement as Merlin touched his hip, holding Arthur in place. The blunt head nudged against Arthur’s slick hole, pushing and pushing but not entering. The muscle twitched, curved inward, resisted as much as it could, but Merlin was patient. Like they had all the time in the world, and they weren’t out in the open where literally anybody could stumble upon them. Or target them. Arthur certainly wasn’t in any position to defend himself. But Merlin wasn’t going to be rushed, wasn’t going to let himself hurt Arthur, even if Arthur encouraged the pain. 

When Merlin finally entered him, it was with a smooth, careful stroke that might even have been aided by magic. Arthur didn’t know for sure. He didn’t even care. His throat bulged with Gwaine’s cock, and Merlin’s long, slim length filled him until nothing else mattered. With the weight of one cock against his tongue, and another splitting him open, his own dripping freely to the blanket beneath him, Arthur decided to let himself go. He untethered himself from the _duty_ and _obligation_ and _propriety_. This wasn’t about pleasuring Merlin and Gwaine—though he found he rather enjoyed that task—but about them lifting some of the burden from his shoulders. 

He let Merlin set the rhythm, let Gwaine snap his hips in a sharp tempo, closed his eyes and let everything else slip away. His cock throbbed, shots of pleasure traveling directly to his groin with every second of friction, every new moment of contact. He rode out every crest and dip, like a ship on a storm-tossed sea, incapable of fighting the elements lashing around it, unwilling to even try. The fire snapped, loud despite their chorus of moans and shouts, occasionally sending a flurry of sparks above their heads. Arthur saw them from the corner of his eye, caught Gwaine’s sharp features in the occasional burst of light. 

Arthur wasn’t quite sure how much time had passed, but he knew it couldn’t be very long before Merlin was muttering something about being _so close_. Merlin had the control to last longer—Arthur knew that Merlin could last as long as Arthur wanted. But maybe it’d been a long time for him, too. Maybe he and Gwaine hadn’t fucked yet. That seemed like a bit too much to hope for, but it would explain why Merlin clawed into Arthur’s back, going rigid against him while his cock jerked and shot deep in Arthur’s ass. Gwaine grunted and tried to pull back, but Arthur wouldn’t let him go. He gripped his hip and yanked him forward, driving Gwaine’s cock into his throat. He was determined to have this taste, to get everything he wanted because he wasn’t sure when, or if, this would ever happen again. 

Gwaine grunted again and then his come hit the back of Arthur’s tongue and washed against his cheeks, filling his mouth until Arthur either had to swallow or let it flow past his lips. He gulped, taking down every drop until Gwaine finally pulled away from him. Arthur licked his lips and leaned forward to catch a bit of come still clinging to Gwaine’s shaft. 

“Arthur.” Merlin pushed on his hip. Arthur knew what he wanted and happily rolled onto his back, exposing his stiff cock. Merlin settled between his legs and lost no time, swallowing Arthur’s shaft quickly, like it would cause him physical discomfort to wait. Gwaine crawled the length of Arthur’s body and settled between him and the fire, dipping his head to tongue Arthur’s balls. His long hair brushed over Arthur’s thighs, the tips just enough to tickled while his stubble was just enough to make his tender skin sting. 

They lavished him with attention, licking and sucking and kissing and nibbling. They took turns swallowing his cock, and even when Arthur had his eyes closed, he knew exactly who had their mouths where. It wasn’t just the difference between stubble and silky smooth skin. Gwaine’s lips were chapped, his tongue broader, and his mouth was big enough to swallow Arthur all the way to the root easily. Merlin focused on suction, pulling his mouth tight around Arthur’s aching shaft and sucking until Arthur thrashed against the ground, convinced he wouldn’t be able to take another wonderful, horrible second. Just as he’d reach that point, Merlin would break away and Gwaine’s mouth would be there, ready to strike, jerking Arthur’s pleasure into a dozen different directions. 

Arthur didn’t want it to end. Not ever. He couldn’t get enough of the push and pull, of the sharp contrasts and even sharper bliss. They didn’t pause to kiss each other, weren’t even touching each other, as far as Arthur could tell, but they were working together. Like they’d scripted the whole thing, and they both knew exactly where and how to touch Arthur, exactly what sort of combination of mouths and fingers he needed to reach the very peak of ecstasy. They held him there effortlessly, balancing him on that fine line, not letting him tumble down and break apart. 

Arthur kept himself propped up on one arm for as long as he could, reaching for Merlin with the other hand, desperate just to touch him. But when it all became too much to bear, he collapsed backwards, gasping for breath as the stars blinked at him. They felt like they were close enough to touch. Like he could just reach up and scoop them into his palm, bring them to his mouth and skin, inhale them. He rolled his head to the side and caught sight of the trident. It glowed with an ethereal light, a shine to it that Arthur never could have made with his old rag. He reached for it, knowing only that he needed to touch it the way he’d needed to touch Merlin. 

Arthur closed the staff in his palm, white light flashing over them as soon as he secured it. Arthur went rigid with unexpected power, the light suffusing his skin. He felt it pour into him, felt it reach down into the earth, disrupting the delicate balance between Gwaine and Merlin. Arthur choked out something—maybe an apology—and then he went rigid with the bliss crashing into him. His cock jerked, but there was so much more going into him than was coming out that he barely noticed the warm liquid shooting onto his stomach. Visions and life passed before him, a million possibilities, an infinite number of choices. Merlin, Gwen, Uther, Morgana, Morgause, a crown, a throne, battles, Excalibur (What’s Excalibur? He didn’t know but he wanted it). He was married, he had kids, he was sick, he was alone. He was never alone. He was hurt and well. He died and rose up and there were still so many choices. A single red ribbon fluttered through it all, tying each piece together. He followed it, wrapped himself around it, let it lead him to…to…

“Arthur? Arthur? Wake up. Arthur. Open your eyes!” 

“What?” Arthur grumbled, vision clearing as he concentrated on Merlin’s worried face. 

“What happened? Did you hit your head?” 

“What?” 

“You were out cold.” 

“What are you talking about? I wasn’t out cold.” 

“You’ve been unconscious for like five minutes!” Merlin insisted, voice tinged with fear. “I thought there was something really wrong. How are you feeling?” 

“I’d feel better if you’d get out of my breath.” 

“He needs air,” Gwaine said, gently nudging Merlin back. 

“I’m fine,” Arthur said quickly, sitting up to prove it. “I just…I don’t know. I’m fine.” 

Merlin didn’t look convinced, but Gwaine smiled. “I’ve never had any complaints, but I think this is the first time I’ve knocked anybody unconscious.” 

“Here.” Merlin thrust a skin of water into Arthur’s hands. “Drink this.” 

“I don’t need water,” Arthur protested, though now that he thought about it, he was pretty thirsty. He upended it over his face, catching most of it with the mouth, but letting the clear, cool liquid splash across his cheek, cleaning away what remained of the sweat and come. He held the skin out, waiting for Merlin to reach for it before grabbing his wrist and tugging him into his lap. 

“I saw…I think I saw it. My destiny. _Our_ destiny.” 

“The sex was that good?” 

“When I touched the trident, idiot. But yes, the sex was that good.” 

“What did you see?” 

“That I’m never going to be rid of either of you.”

“Never,” Merlin agreed, setting against Arthur more comfortably. They should get dressed, but Merlin didn’t look like he planned to move any time soon. Especially after Gwaine sandwiched Merlin between them, one arm going around his back, the other resting lightly—possessively—on Arthur’s thigh.


End file.
